


Like A Phoenix (she's seared across my eyelids)

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Harper's rebirth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Phoenix (she's seared across my eyelids)

They had shared a tent during those first weeks on the ground, back when they’d lived at the dropship. It had been a fairly perfunctory friendship, borne of two girls (plus two more named Fox and Priya) who had glanced around and seen themselves standing next to each other and decide that was enough criteria to qualify sharing a home.

Monroe had quickly sought out Bellamy, one of their erstwhile leaders, and made a name for herself especially when he and Clarke brought those guns back to camp. Monroe and her had talked, sure, there had been plenty of nights in the tent where the girls had chattered quietly on about this or that.  Compared their crimes.

Monroe had assaulted a guard. (Harper didn’t dare ask what he had tried to do before she had let loose on him).

Harper had prostituted herself.

 

 

You do what you need to survive.

 

 

_You’re acting like a fool_

Monroe murmured as they laid on their sides facing each other in the small tent. Priya was god knows where and Fox was snoring feet away. 

_Jasper’s an ass and he’s obsessed with Octavia Blake._

Harper flushed angrily. 

_Well, stop letting me bother you, then._

 

 

She knew what it was like to swallow her disgust, to put on the false face of desire as a strange man grunted and rutted away on top of her body, pinning her down. To try to wash away the stench, the stickiness of semen afterwards.

That was its own horror.

Being immobilized completely, so helpless as the doctor ( _that bitch_ ) reasoned her way into turning on the drill, the President’s son ( _that fucking asshole_ ) turning his disgust into dark glee as he listened to her screaming…

That…

That had been hell.

 

And again, then afterwards when Monty curled his fingers through the wires of the cage, rubbing her own as pain vibrated through her nerve endings, trying to talk her through it…

She had found herself thinking about Monroe—

_Ada. My first name is Ada. I don’t know…it just doesn’t seem to fit me so I go by Monroe. It’s easier._

Monroe who had just been there, whose presence she had grown accustomed to. She had missed that and dreamt of that stupid blue tent, wanting desperately to be back there, where there hadn’t been this kind of pain and dehumanisation.

 

 

In her dreams, the dropship seemed like paradise.

 

 

The Mt Weather guards ripped the hoods off one by one, and Harper gasped when she saw Monroe’s familiar wheat-colored braids. _At least now you know what wheat looks like_. Monroe’s blue eyes lit upon hers and Harper didn’t know what she tried to convey with her eyes, with the tugging at her bonds, but maybe Monroe understood all the same.

Then they lifted Raven onto the table and…

And…

 

 

_Die. All of you, die, and burn in hell_.

 

 

She resolutely took a rifle before they left the mountain. It was a comforting weight in her hands as they started their march.  She felt a thrill when Monroe fell into step next to her. Her hip ached unbearably, still. But the small smile Monroe offered her was a balm to her wounds.

It was unconceivable, that humans would do things like that to other human beings.

But she’s alive and maybe it’s just an extension of her trauma…

_Oh wow!_

_Yep. Welcome to Camp Jaha, formerly Alpha station. The current capital city for the Skai Kru._

_Skaykrow? What’s that?_

_Shit, I forgot how much you’ve missed. That’s what the Sky people are called in the Trigeda language. The grounders we were at war with before you were taken._

_But not anymore?_

_…I don’t know._

 

Harper asked Monroe where she was sleeping. Asked if she had room for another roommate.

It’s four nights of tossing and turning, of being ripped from sleep by nightmares that she’s back in that mountain, four nights of mistaking the hum of electricity for a drill, before she was being pulled into strong arms.

Monroe encouraged her to wrap her limbs around her body. They don’t sleep in anything more than their underwear shorts and a shirt. There’s enough heating to keep the rooms in Camp Jaha warm.

They’re alone in the room the night Harper made the decision and pushed Monroe over onto her back, straddling her body. Harper’s taller where Monroe was more compact. In the dark, she could barely make out the whites of the other girl’s eyes. But she can feel the expansion of breath behind ribcages, underneath her thighs. She could feel the shudder, the anticipation.

_What if I kissed you?_

_I’d let you._

_Would you kiss me back?_

_Yes._

_Okay, but I need it to be like this._

Harper needed to be on top, to not feel the clench of disgust or feel the echo of restraints and helplessness. It’s strange…kissing a girl like this. Their lips are chapped and it’s abrasive.

But gentle.

Harper isn’t interested in gentle. She wants to feel, to devour Monroe’s lips roughly enough that the other woman has to scramble for breath and clutch at her back, the way she was doing right now. Harper rocked her cunt over the curve of the mound underneath her, panting as she felt the criminal evidence of arousal.

It was always weird doing this for herself instead of for money or supplies.

_Wait, wait, let me._

Harper let Monroe tug her shirt off. Her underwear. And she felt brave enough to encourage Monroe to do the same with her own underwear. This way, naked and skin-to-skin, Harper let herself slow down at long last. To enjoy the touch of calloused fingers along her back, the underside of her breasts, and the wet, fleshy lips of her cunt.

The pleasure was sharp now, and Harper rocked back and forth on top of Monroe, blabbing incoherently as she chased down her orgasm. Her proof of life. Other girls had whispered to her when she was younger, that orgasms used to be called ‘the little death’ in the Old World.

It’s not, you see.

Harper tensed, bore down hard on Monroe’s fingers, and then shattered around them as her mind went mercifully blank. No, they were a rebirth.

It took minutes of letting the sweat cool on her skin and her rabbit heartbeat slowing down before Harper looked back down at Monroe in the stifling darkness of the room. She was here, she had survived.

_Your turn. I want to make you feel alive, too._

And Harper slipped in between Monroe’s toned thighs, as she felt the skin jump under her fingertips, she thought maybe she’d finally made her way home at last.

 


End file.
